My trip to work from the Island was a silent one: no headphones, no book, no phone to distract me. Instead, the cacophony of the city mixed with the observation of tired, broken, enslaved New Yorkers; a preferrable accompaniment to my pensive mood.
When I got out of the subway at 28th Street I saw a ‘Made in NY’ production truck. This made me laugh and grin like a teeny tiny leprechaun was tickling me beneath my suit, reminded of a time not too long ago, when I was enslaved by the same industry.
With my miraculous escape came a surprising sense of pride that seeing this truck elicited: a pride in outgrowing the need to work “in the field I’d studied,” and ironically, a pride in the newfound humility of knowing my proper place in the world.
Then the thought that was really on my mind came to the fore: “I wonder if my ex-girlfriend is working on this show.”
Turning the corner answered my question.
There she was turned to face the direction of the wardrobe truck (or was it costumes?) in a group of four other female colleagues, all wearing masks. But a mask can never conceal a person’s spirit. I passed behind her, studying her ponytail, her posture, her double masking, her goggle-like glasses, my obvious investigative stares impossible to suppress.
Then I stopped on the corner to get my bearings and check the address of my worksite.
The Moment
With my bearings gotten, I poorly feigned a need to turn around. She stood where I’d passed her, about fifty feet away beside her colleague, staring me down, her arms crossed. ‘Oh,’ I thought. ‘She sensed it too.’
The Very Next Moment
Having another image of an ex-girlfriend sighting now burned into my memory (albeit this one is very much preferable to the last one seven years prior), I (again) poorly feigned seeing through her, then walked down the street, passing production vehicles, the norm of mask wearing crew members and endless hampers full of infinite cable, all serving as reminders of a previous life long gone.
Pontification ;)
Once I passed through the production, I felt the fullness of my racing heart. With it I imagined acting differently in the moment…I imagined waving to her. She was staring, there is no denying that she also saw me. I know she would have waved back. It would have been a sign of peace, possibly reconciliation.
But it also would have been acknowledgement, and acknowledgement is painful.
For acknowledgment of a past long gone recalls memories. Memories unearth emotions. In this case, it recalls memories of joy, and the subsequent—and permanent—loss of that earthly joy. And loss cannot be felt if not first for love.
Feelings can be hurt, and love can be buried in self-protection, but once created, love can never be destroyed. (I am talking about more than the emotion.)
Her decision to willfully face me will be a mystery. (Defiance? Curiosity?) But its foundation, though denied by the proud-- and for reasons as varied as there are unique humans on earth--is love. (I speak to proud people for a living; I know the signs.)
And when paths unexpectedly cross, love, unexpectedly remembered, is rekindled. Albeit never in the form it once took. (Depending on the relationship it could take the form of forgiveness.)
“I don’t love him anymore,” can be more truthfully replaced with “I don’t love him in that way anymore,” becasue there will always be that hope for the good for the other. It is emotions that make acknowledgment of truth this blunt impossibly, painfully incomprehensible to utter aloud. (It is truth nonetheless.) But, as humans are in a fallen state, and for the sake of a new love’s pride (and to avoid them feeling envy) the former statement is more tactful, if not completely true. (Also, unnecessary to mention at all.)
This crossing was providential, with my schedule changing just slightly enough to make this occurrence possible. And yet, I still wonder at God’s mysterious purpose for crossing our paths today. Did I not learn enough of my lesson from the last time my path crossed with an ex-girlfriend? (I certainly did not learn my lesson after my first arrest.) I understand justice--and envy--better now than I did two years ago when I broke up with her, and maybe that was her purpose in my life? (I did not want it to be! That lesson suuuuuuuucked. Sometimes the only way to get though to someone is with an avoidable tragedy.)
So many questions that my soul must now unexpectedly seek the answers for! Why now?
Regardless, I must give myself up to the mysteries of God’s will, putting my faith in the purpose of this untimely sighting. Having a sense of humor about it helps too, as does looping Michelini's Frolic' in my head.
